He’s leaving.
Every second, every sweet little moment was borrowed time.
He was a whole life in Florida, and I was a woman with dirt on her jeans and her heart tied to a lodge that couldn’t fit anyone else’s dreams.
“You just made a face,” he said suddenly, breaking the moment.
I blinked. “What?”
“You made a face. That look you get when your brain is saying something your mouth isn’t.”
“I do not have a look.”
“You absolutely do.”
I stood up, crossing to the flowers and fussing with them in a vase like they hadn’t already been perfectly arranged. “It’s nothing.”
“Fifi,” he said gently.
I turned, hands on the counter, leaning back like it would put space between his words and my thoughts.
“I just—” I exhaled. “I keep wondering if this is just… summer magic.”
He tilted his head.
“Like, maybe you’re the guy who kissed me in a canoe, and I’m the quirky girl who made you banana bread, and that’s it. That’s the story. A sweet one. But short.”
He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he stood and walked over, sliding a hand gently against my arm.
“Is that what you want it to be?”
I looked up at him and swallowed.
“I don’t know what I want,” I said honestly. “But I know I’m scared to wantmore.Because I’ve done that before, and it doesn’t usually end with surprise flowers and picnics.”
His fingers brushed mine, and even though the room was warm, I felt the chill of everything I hadn’t dared to say.
He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t promise anything either.
And somehow, for the first time, that might’ve been exactly what I needed.
“What are your dreams, Wisconsin?” His eyes fastened on mine, and a flutter ran through me.
Dreams?
He was still looking at me.
Not justlooking, but waiting.
The kind of quiet that left no room for performance. No place to hide behind sarcasm or a quippy one-liner. And I hated that my first instinct was to joke my way out of it.
Instead, I leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter and stared down at my bare feet.
“Sorry,” I said. “That just kind of... caught me off guard.”
“What did?” Ben’s voice was gentle, low.
“You asked about my dreams,” I said, lifting my gaze to his. “And it hit me that no one’s ever actually done that before.”
